


I Still Remember The Cheeto Dust

by stardustsmiles



Category: Cheetos "Chester Cheeto" Advertisements, Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Genre: Degradation, Lemon, M/M, Smut, This is my magnum opus, Wet Dream, crackship, degradation but add a little spice, explicit - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:41:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29291544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustsmiles/pseuds/stardustsmiles
Summary: After finding Cheeto™ dust on his favorite shirt, F. Scott Fitzgerald thinks back to the time he had an unforgettable rendezvous with a certain bespectacled man-cheetah.
Relationships: F. Scott Fitzgerald/Chester Cheetah
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	I Still Remember The Cheeto Dust

The author gazed in the mirror, only to be met by the same pair of robin’s-egg-blue eyes that he knew resided on his face. He brushed a piece of dirty-blond hair out of his face and sighed. The man of below average height had dealt with his inner demons for all 20 years of his life. When would he finally be granted a reprieve from this hell? When would his life finally become worthwhile in the eyes of society?  
When would he finally get fucked?   
He put on his favorite Ye Chemical Romance T-shirt. The colors of the angelic graphics had faded, but he knew the familiar smell of the shirt; even catching a whiff of the spicy aroma was enough to make his johnson wiggle. Sometimes, he found baseball-mitt-orange dust still clinging to the fabric. Now that was enough to make him, er… defile all of the tissues in his mother’s bathroom cabinet. He would never forget that encounter, the only encounter of that nature that he had ever experienced.  
Chester.  
Chester…  
“Oh, Chester!” he cried in the throes of ecstasy. After proper preparation of his lubed-up tunnel of love, Chester had wasted no time in sticking his flamin’-hot cheeto right into the luscious dungeon of the shorter man’s ass. Scotty had dreamed of doing the horizontal tango for years, but he had never expected something so… marvelous. Something so beautiful that he felt his own wet emissions tickle his man-taint.  
“Your...your trouser-snake...” commented the author. “It’s...so modest in appearance, yet so effective in its function.”  
“Are you calling me small?” demanded the man-cheetah, narrowing his feline eyes behind his sunglasses.  
“Yes, really… a pathetic little man-whore like you doesn’t deserve any more flattering description…” said the author with a tantalizingly lopsided smirk. “Why don’t you give me more? Only do better this time.”  
“Okay, daddy,” the cheetah breathed as his rhythmic thrusts increased in tempo. “Y-you’re so tight,” he moaned.  
“Come on, you spotted slut, surely that’s not the peak of your performance,” challenged the younger man with a glint in his cornflower-blue eyes. “You don’t want to disappoint me, do you?”  
“N-no…!” The scarlet-tinted feline humanoid was grateful for the darkened spectacles that adorned his face, for he did not want them to betray his eyes rolling back in skyrocketing heights of pleasure as he demolished Scotty Fitz’s virgin ass with his engorged taint tube.  
“Want a break from the ads?” boomed Olde Spotifye from the enormous radio next to the kitchen counter over which the writer was bent.  
Lil Fitz let out a mocking laugh. “You don’t even have Olde Spotifye Premium,” he gasped in between throes of laughter and pleasure. “With you, there’s disappointment around every corner! Really, I’m glad I’m being kept on my toes,” sneered the dirty-blond man.  
Chester hoped Sexy Scotty wouldn’t notice his pace quickening as he reached closer to the summit of Orgasm Mountain. What remained of his maid outfit quivered against his body. Fortunately, the Olde Spotifye announcer stopped talking, and “E-Wenches are Ruining My Life” by Plague Corpse started blasting from the radio.  
Unfortunately for the Cheetos Brand® mascot, Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald did notice, and he raised a hand from all fours to wag his finger disapprovingly at his lover. “Not yet, you shining example of feline mediocrity.”  
“O-oh,” Chester mewled desperately, musk wafting from his scent glands as he tried desperately to keep his man milk inside his gargantuan testicles.  
“You off-brand Walmart knockoff cheddar puff snack,” Ol’ Fitzy taunted.  
That was enough to send the hulking mass of an oversized catboy into the full-body experience of the big O. “Ooooo-ohhhhhhhh-oh!” he moaned as wet sunset-orange cum erupted from his Cheeto® dust-covered dick. If cheetahs could roar, he would have at that moment.  
With a start, F. Scott Fitzgerald woke from his cum-soaked slumber to find his undergarments were sticky. “Oh, fudgebasket,” he sighed, twiddling his fingers through his newly slimy public hair. “I suppose it was just another delightfully wet night-fantasy.”


End file.
